The Voyage to Egypt.
While confined to the narrow waters of Cook Strait, the fleet preserved
its line ahead formation, but after passing Cape Farewell the two
divisions of five ships each steamed in parallel lines eight cable
lengths apart. Miles ahead raced the "Minotaur," a speck on the
horizon; the "Philomel" was four miles astern; while on either beam,
six miles away, were the other two cruisers--the "Ibuki" to starboard
and the "Psyche" to port.
The weather was typical of the Tasman Sea, and both men and horses
suffered a good deal from seasickness. Where there were many horses,
particularly on ships like the "Orari," those who were well enough had
plenty to do cleaning the horse decks and setting unsteady animals on
their feet. That only four horses died out of the 3815 on board speaks
volumes for the care taken in selection and the solicitude of the
seasick troopers and drivers.
[Illustration:
[_Lent by Major Brunt, W.I.R._
RESTING ON THE BOAT DECK.]
A Great Welcome at Hobart.
After six weary days at sea no one was sorry to see Wednesday morning
break with the rugged coast of Tasmania ahead; little wonder that the
prospect of a three hours' route march on the morrow was received with
jubilation. Next morning it seemed that all Hobart was astir. With
packs up the infantry cut a fine figure. All along the route women and
children showered flowers on the troops. Where-ever a halt was made
the people brought out bunches of beautiful roses, which the soldiers
carried back to grace their none too ornamental quarters. Thousands of
the famous Tasmanian apples were pressed upon the men. Some enthusiasts
presented the artillery with a garland on a pole, which the proud
gunners carried before them as a colour. Back again at the wharf, the
sellers of apples and crayfish did brisk business, and many were the
commissions handed over by the sportsmen aboard to be dealt with by the
celebrated Hobart house of Tattersall. When the gangways were up the
people thronged the wharves, handing up parcels of cakes, sweets and
apples. The regimental bands struck up "It's a long way to Tipperary,"
and the ships pulled out to the accompaniment of tumultuous cheering.
It was three o'clock that afternoon when the ships again put to sea.
The "Psyche" returned to New Zealand, and her place was taken by the
"Pyramus." The long rolling swell common to the Great Australian Bight
again made things very uncomfortable for the horses; to make matters
worse, a thick fog descended, speed was reduced, and every few minutes
the ear was assailed by the blasts of the "Minotaur" syren and the
answering shrieks from the vessels of the fleet.
Gradually the weather moderated and the men became steadier on their
legs. Musketry practice at floating targets was initiated; where there
was room on the crowded decks physical training was carried on, while
the mounted men had their horses with the never-ending stables--it
being recognized that the habit of absolute cleanliness in regard to
both the men's and the horses' quarters should become second nature
before the really hot weather was encountered.
[Illustration:
[_Lent by F. W. Randall_
THE WELL SET UP INFANTRY OF THE MAIN BODY PARADING AT HOBART FOR A
ROUTE MARCH.]
A private of the New Zealand Medical Corps died on Sunday, October
26, and next day a most impressive burial service was conducted on
the "Ruapehu." At three o'clock she steamed out of her line and took
station in the centre of the parallel divisions. At half-past three,
when colours were hoisted and lowered to half-mast, the troops in
each transport paraded with their bands. The flagship having made the
signal to "Stop engines," the troops on all ships stood to attention,
whereupon the "Dead March" was played, followed by a short funeral
service; the body of the first soldier of the New Zealand Expeditionary
Force to die overseas was reverently committed to the deep. The firing
party having fired its three volleys, the solemn notes of the "Last
Post" floated over the sunlit waters, the flagship signalled "11
knots," and the convoy proceeded on its way.
Young Australia greets Young New Zealand.
Thirteen days after leaving Wellington the New Zealand ships crept into
the spacious harbour of Albany, Western Australia. Here were gathered
innumerable vessels of every line trading in the Southern oceans. Not
painted uniformly grey like our ships, but taken in all their glory of
greens, blues and yellows, they rode on the calm water of King George's
Sound packed with the adventurous spirits of the First Australian
Division. The cheering and counter-cheering, the Maori war cries
and answering coo-ees would have moved a stoic. Young Australia was
welcoming Young New Zealand in no uncertain manner in the first meeting
of those brothers-in-arms soon to be known by a glorious name as yet
undreamed of.
After a few days spent in replenishing supplies, the wonderful armada
put out to sea. The twenty-six Australian transports steamed in three
parallel divisions, being joined a day out by two Westralian transports
from Fremantle. The New Zealand ships retained their old formation, the
two divisions covering off the blank spaces of the Australian convoy.
We parted company from the old "P" class cruisers, but got in return
the two new Australian ships, the "Sydney" and the "Melbourne," long,
snakey-looking craft with four rakish funnels. The "Minotaur" was
still steaming away ahead, while to starboard was our old friend the
"Ibuki," evidently burning bad coal, her three black funnels belching
forth tremendous volumes of the blackest smoke.
[Illustration:
[_Lent by F. W. Randall_
AN IMPRESSIVE SUNDAY SERVICE ON THE "ATHENIC."
The padre is the Rev. Canon Taylor, C.F., a frail man with an
enthusiasm for serving his fellows. He served through the Gallipoli
Campaign, and at Sarpi Rest Camp was tireless in his efforts to
rejuvenate the listless survivors from Anzac.]
Great attention was now paid to the masking of all lights by night.
It was known that German cruisers were at large--notably the
"Scharnhorst," "Gneisenau" and "Emden." In order to evade these ocean
highwaymen the usual course was not set through the Indian Ocean. For
the same reason, a strict censorship in regard to movements of ships
prevailed in Australia and New Zealand. At Hobart and Albany the
greatest precautions were taken. Ample proof was ultimately forthcoming
that this trouble was not in vain.
But the convoy was a very cumbersome thing. The cruiser leading and
the cruiser acting as a rearguard were both hull down on the horizon.
There was an Australian transport that most days could do nine knots
with an effort; one or two erratic performers like this sorely trying
the practised station-keepers of the Imperial Navy. Characteristic
sailor messages were being constantly transmitted. The following is
a sample:--"From H.M.S. 'Minotaur' to all transports: The attention
of masters of Australian transports is again drawn to the extreme
importance of keeping accurate station, especially at night. During
last night the Second Division straggled to seven miles, whereas their
line should be three miles in length. The Third Division straggled to
six miles, whereas their line should be three miles and a half. By this
careless station-keeping the masters expose their ships to an increased
risk of being torpedoed by an enemy, and also involve the New Zealand
convoy in the same danger. The New Zealand convoy are keeping stations
at three cables apart in excellent order, and their great attention to
convoy orders as regards reduction of power of lights merits my warm
approval. The 'Medic' and 'Geelong' were signalling last night with
lights visible at least ten miles. I again point out the necessity of
reducing the power of lights by blue bunting or other means."
A strange ship on the horizon always aroused great speculation; never
did a cloud of smoke materialize into a ship but the stranger was
already attended by one of our escorting cruisers. Thus was the R.M.S.
"Osterley" of the Orient line examined, and later passed the convoy on
Guy Fawkes Day, homeward bound, carrying the soldiers' Christmas mails.
An air of expectancy hung over the convoy on Sunday, November 8, for
on that day news arrived of the naval battle off Valparaiso, in which
H.M.S. "Good Hope" and H.M.S. "Monmouth" were destroyed by a superior
German force.
Early that same morning the "Minotaur" signalled to the "Maunganui":
"I am ordered on another service; wish you the very best of success
when you land in France. Give the Germans a good shake-up. It has been
a great pleasure to escort such a well-disciplined force and convoy.
Good-bye."
The Triumph of Australia.
The flagship's place ahead was now held by the "Melbourne," with the
"Ibuki" to starboard and the "Sydney" to port.
With the news of the Valparaiso battle and the departure of the
"Minotaur" came word that the Cocos Islands would be passed during the
night, and special precautions were ordered to be taken in regard to
lights. The usual sharp look-out was kept, but the hours of darkness
slipped by without incident. But at 6.30 a.m. the "Melbourne" turned
to port and spoke for a few minutes to her sister ship. By this time
all the transports were aware of the wireless messages from the Cocos
Islands signalling "S.O.S.," "Strange warship approaching." The
Australian transport "Karoo" and the New Zealand transport "Arawa"
picked up the following: "PNX DE WSP DE PNX NE DE NGI PFB DEO," also,
"S.O.S.--Strange warship at entrance. Ignores our remarks--S.O.S.,
S.O.S.," then a long message, apparently in Dutch. These mixed-up
messages, obviously mutilated and jammed by the hostile Telefunken,
provided knotty problems for those whose duty it was to fathom the
mysteries of code and cypher.
[Illustration: THE LAST OF THE "EMDEN."
While the "Sydney" dealt with the "Emden," the "Ibuki" and "Melbourne"
lay on the threatened quarter of the convoy. The action took place out
of the sight and sound of the troops on the transports, which were
over seventy miles away from the Cocos Group.]
The captain of the "Melbourne," being in charge of the convoy, could
not go to the Cocos Islands, sixty miles away, so ordered the
"Sydney" on this service. By 7 a.m. the cruiser had worked up to her
speed and was rapidly lost to sight. The "Melbourne" came down to the
"Sydney's" place on the threatened flank, and then the attention of the
whole convoy was rivetted on the Japanese cruiser coming across from
starboard around the head of the convoy. As she forged ahead through
the heavy swell a great white wave streamed over her bows, being made
more conspicuous by her pitch black hull and the three black funnels
belching enormous columns of dense black smoke. Tearing through the
indigo Indian Ocean, with her great battle flags streaming blood-red in
the breeze, she became the very personification of energy and power.
With the two cruisers lying handy on the threatened flank, the troops
waited anxiously for news. All realized that just across the horizon a
life and death struggle was taking place. No sound of battle could be
heard but the spluttering of the wireless, from which it was learned at
9.30 that the enemy had been brought to action.
The men could hardly contain themselves for excitement. This was
intensified when, about 11 o'clock, the Japanese cruiser appeared
to steam away in the direction of the fight. But at twenty minutes
past eleven the wireless announced. "Enemy beached herself to prevent
sinking." Restraint was thrown aside. The men cheered again and again.
Messages then chased one another in quick succession: "Emden beached
and done for. Am chasing merchant collier." The cheering burst out
afresh, for this was the first mention of the "Emden." How the New
Zealanders envied the Australians this momentous achievement of their
young navy.
About half an hour later came the story of the price paid for
admiralty--two killed and thirteen wounded. The troops shouted
themselves hoarse when they learned that the "Emden" was ashore on
North Cocos Isle, and had surrendered with her foremast and three
funnels down. The following message was sent from the "Maunganui":
"Many congratulations from the N.Z.E.F. on result of first action of
the Australian Navy." Back came a typical naval answer: "Reply to your
signal of yesterday. Many thanks to New Zealand Squadron for their
congratulations. It is very satisfactory that in its baptism of fire
the superiority of town class cruiser over German town class light
cruiser was so completely established."
Four days after this most memorable day a signal announced that H.M.S.
"Hampshire" was steaming fifty miles ahead of us, and to facilitate
coaling and watering at Colombo, the New Zealand squadron was ordered
to steam ahead of the Australians, who were left in charge of the
"Ibuki."
The line was crossed on the same day (November 13), and His Deep Sea
Majesty King Neptune, attended by his consort and a numerous suite of
barbers, bears, and orderlies, came aboard each of the transports.
All deference and homage was paid, and the hoary old salt never had a
busier day--eight thousand four hundred New Zealanders paying their
tribute according to their respective popularity with His Majesty's
attendants.
A Run Ashore at Colombo.
Two days steaming brought the "Hampshire" and her convoy within sight
of Ceylon. This to most New Zealanders was the first far-off view of a
tropical isle. As the ships steamed over an unruffled sea, the troops
drank in the wonderful sight, so refreshing after the tiresome monotony
of the voyage. The little brown fishing boats were thickly sprinkled
over a fleckless seascape--ashore the beautiful buildings resplendent
in a setting of graceful palms. Up the coast and round the breakwater
the squadron picked its way through a flotilla of every conceivable
variety of small craft.
Inside the crowded harbour lay our old friend the "Melbourne" and a
quaint five-funnelled warship--the Russian cruiser "Askold," which we
were later to know so well. The work of the "Emden" had been fairly
thorough--during her career she had sunk sixteen merchant ships, the
Russian cruiser "Jemtchug," and the French destroyer "Mousquet"--and
here in Colombo Harbour were dozens of ships which had been held up,
but were again free to sail the ocean highways.
About half an hour after our arrival, it was rumoured that the "Sydney"
was coming, and sure enough, there were the familiar four funnels with
their little white bands, and closely following her the big "Empress of
Russia" with her cruiser stern. Slowly the gallant ship come round the
breakwater to her moorings. As she passed the New Zealand transports it
was evident that she was, as her captain described her, "nothing but an
hospital of a most painful description." Wounded Germans were lying on
stretchers all over the deck, and on that account the soldiers, though
greatly thrilled and moved by the obvious marks of battle on the ship,
stood respectfully silent at attention.
[Illustration:
[_Lent by F. W. Randall_
THE VICTOR.
The "Sydney" steaming round Colombo breakwater after destroying the
"Emden."]
The prisoners, 138 in number, were distributed over the Australian and
New Zealand transports, an officer and half a dozen men being placed
on each ship. Many of them could speak English, having served on
British merchant ships. It then became apparent that the precautions of
darkening lights and a strict censorship had indeed borne fruit, for
on the night of November 8, the "Emden" actually crossed the bows of
our convoy, accompanied by a captured British collier, the "Buresk,"
heavily laden with the best Welsh coal. The raider, knowing nothing
of our presence, arrived off the Cocos group early in the morning,
and sent a party ashore on Direction Island to destroy the cable and
the wireless station, which barely had time to send out the S.O.S.
received by the fleet. The appearance of the Australian cruiser on the
horizon (the Germans took her to be H.M.S. "Yarmouth") was the first
intimation to the "Emden" that all was not well. The German ship put
out to sea and fought her last sea fight, while the armed party ashore
busied themselves with preparing the "Ayesha," a local schooner, for
flight. The "Sydney" had to turn her attention to the collier, which
was endeavouring to escape. On overtaking her, it was found that her
sea-cocks were open, and as she could not be saved, the "Sydney" fired
a couple of shots into her at the water line. Night coming on, the
schooner with her adventurous crew successfully cleared the Cocos,
apparently for the African coast. Such were the facts as gleaned from
the German prisoners.
[Illustration:
[_Photo by Capt. Paddon, O.M.R._
PRISONERS FROM THE "EMDEN."
The 138 prisoners were distributed among the Australian and New Zealand
transports.]
From the transports in Colombo Harbour 200 men at a time went ashore
from each ship; each party being broken up into smaller ones of twenty
men with an officer. Going ashore in the boats we pulled through clouds
of lemon, chrome, and golden butterflies fluttering over the water
in all directions, reminding one of yellow poplar leaves drifting
to the ground in an autumn wind. Once ashore the brilliant colours
and fragrant flower scents seemed like fairyland after the heat and
smell of the horse decks. Along the brick-red sandy roads the rickshaw
coolies pattered with their slouch-hatted loads. Under the shade of the
Eastern trees the soldier snatched one hour of the real joy of living.
Interested parties explored the Buddhist temples, the air heavy with
incense and the scent of many flowers. Down on the Galle Face, where
the cocoanut palms weep over the sea, the revelation of poverty and
mendicity came as a shock to the young New Zealanders--thousands of
beggars, the halt, the lame and the blind--small boys begging pennies,
old men with one foot in the grave complaining in broken English, "No
mother, no father, sixpence please!"
[Illustration:
[_Photo by Guy_
ON THE HORSE DECKS.]
The New Zealand soldier away from home is prodigal with his money,
and the Cingalese and Indian shopkeepers parcelled up many thousands
of pounds worth of gifts, ranging from precious stones and expensive
silks down to the cocoanut-wood elephants and the little green-backed
beetles. The censors never left their desks, so energetic were the
correspondents, but gradually the pile grew less and the mail bags
more swollen; the shouting gangs of dirty coolies passed--basketful
by basketful--the contents of their loaded barges into the hungry
stokeholds; all water tanks were refilled, and on the morning of
November 17, the New Zealand transports, escorted by the "Hampshire,"
headed once again for the deep water.
[Illustration:
[_Lent by Major Brunt, W.I.B._
THE "HAMPSHIRE."
Transferring the "Emden" prisoners to the "Hampshire" at Port Said.]
The Monotony of the Voyage.
In a sense this was the most wearisome stage of the journey, although
there was a little to interest. By day, shoals of flying fish leaped
ahead of the ships, shimmered in the sunlight, and splashed again into
the depths; and in the hours of darkness the stable picket gazing out
of the porthole marvelled at the mass of gleaming phosphorescence. But
the monotony of the warm weather and a placid sea, together with the
reaction after the glorious taste of freedom at Colombo, did not make
for tranquility of spirit. Even the civilian passenger in the first
saloon tires of marvellous seascapes, and ship's food, however daintily
served, becomes repugnant. Pity, then, the poor soldier cramped up
in a transport; necessarily living on monotonous food which he must
help to prepare; tending horses and cleaning up the ship; stiff from
the inoculations designed to protect him in the future, and steaming
steadily on (at a rate of nine knots per hour!) to a destination only
vaguely guessed at. So it was a relief to reach that rocky outpost,
Aden, and to learn that just on the horizon hostile Arabs and Turks
were bent on making trouble. Discomforts were quickly forgotten in the
thrill of nearing battle grounds. Away on those red sands we could
picture Turk and Teuton scheming and planning to get possession of
those priceless water cisterns.
No one was allowed ashore, but the harbour was full of interest.
Nine big vessels packed with South Wales Borderers and Middlesex
Territorials were coaling, on their way to India. The "Ibuki" here
wished us good-bye and steamed away to join the Southern Japanese
squadron.
[Illustration:
[_Photo by Capt. Paddon, O.M.R._
"MONDAY." ]
The voyage from Aden to Suez was commenced on Thursday, November 26,
with the "Hampshire" escorting the entire Australian and New Zealand
fleet in five divisions, the five leading ships all being in line. We
passed Perim at 2.30 in the afternoon, the New Zealand ships having
been ordered to steam five miles ahead of the Australians.
It was anticipated that the horses would be severely tried in the Red
Sea. When a following wind got up the troopers were more apprehensive,
but the horses seemed determined to do honour to their native land, and
there was little sickness.
Ordered to Disembark in Egypt.
In the Red Sea a wireless was received instructing the Force to prepare
for a disembarkation in Egypt. Turkey being at war with the Allies
and already threatening the Suez Canal, this turn of affairs was not
surprising, but some were disappointed that anything should occur to
defer our landing in France to help the sorely tried British and French
Armies.
At 5 o'clock on November 30, the first New Zealand ship, the
"Maunganui," entered the Canal. Each ship had a little engine installed
forward to provide for the powerful electric headlight fastened on the
bows. The armed guard stationed on the starboard side strained their
ears and eyes for any movement, but there was nothing evident except
the beautiful stars, the Indian sentries pacing noiselessly up and
down their sandy beats, and the incessant chatter of the little engine
forward.
[Illustration:
[_Lent by F. W. Randall_
STEAMING INTO ALEXANDRIA.]
"Who are you?" shouted a voice from the desert, and continued, "126th
Baluchis here." "We're New Zealanders," was the quiet answer. "Hooray!"
cried the Baluchi, "Advance Australia!" It must be said that since that
December day of 1914, both Baluchi and New Zealander have gained
a good deal of geographical knowledge--at the same time removing an
amount of ignorance, the price of previous insularity.
[Illustration:
[_Lent by F. W. Randall_
DISEMBARKING AT ALEXANDRIA.
In the foreground is a white "ramp" used for disembarking horses. On
the outskirts of the group of soldiers may be noticed two Egyptians
endeavouring to "change tho money."]
From Suez to the Bitter Lakes, past all the posts we were destined
to know so well; past Ismailia and the fortifications of Kantara,
the transports slowly steamed. It was the New Zealander's first real
glimpse of Empire. Here lining the banks were the picturesque bearded
Sikhs, the native cavalry and infantry from every frontier State, and
the alert Ghurka with his familiar slouch hat and short trousers.
At Port Said the German prisoners of war were transferred to the
"Hampshire." This was the last we saw of the famous cruiser, fated to
become, on the disastrous day, July 5, 1916, off the Orkneys coast, the
ocean mausoleum of that great soldier, Field-Marshal Lord Kitchener of
Khartoum.
Exactly seven weeks after leaving Wellington Harbour, the look-outs
saw with the dawn of December 3, the great white city of Alexandria
standing in a sea of mist. Slowly we forged ahead until clustering
spars resolved themselves into a multitude of transports and captured
sailing ships, for here were interned most of the enemy mercantile
marine captured in the Eastern Mediterranean. By 8 o'clock that morning
six of the New Zealand transports were alongside, and clamouring
round, the long-skirted rabble of the Egyptian seaport beheld in the
stalwart colonials the same material as that which wrested victory at
Tel-el-Kebir and Omdurman.
The poor horses were delighted to get ashore; groggy on their feet,
they cut the most amusing capers. Soon men and stores, guns and horses,
were en route to the railway station, where troop trains were waiting,
and in a few hours were speeding across some of the most magnificent
agricultural country in the world--the delta of the Nile.